Say It if You Mean It
by Neige Nivro
Summary: When a Spock's betrothed, T'Pring, comes back to claim him, will she get what she wants? Or will she unwittingly send him into the arms of his captain? Very slow-building K/S. R
1. Jim's Remedy

**Title**: Say It if You Mean It

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Universe**/**Series**: Reboot

**Rating**: PG-13

**Relationship status**: Preslash for what will feel like forever (Slow-Building)

**Word count**: 2686 (for now)

**Genre**: Romance mostly

**Warnings**: Naughty words, het!yay, homo!yay, and don't run with scissors (good warning for all).

**Additional Pairings**: Spock/Uhura

**Summary**: Spock thought she was dead; he was sure of it. But here she was on the USS Enterprise. And with what she has planned, he's going to wish she had died.

**A/N**:Woo! I would like to say now, the K/S in this is going to be EXTREMELY slow building. If you want quick smex, this is NOT your fic. Also, I wanted to give a huge thank you to my AMAZING beta, proudcockatrice who everyone should bow to in wonder and awe. Any remaining mistakes are my own, so no blame to the mighty beta :D

James T. Kirk was drunk. Drunker than he had ever been in his _life_, and that was one hell of an accomplishment. Around him lay the dried out corpses of bottles, shots, and drink glasses like a battlefield with Jim the reigning champion. Today had been a big day, and Jim was unwinding from it with some big drinking. The entire time he had been on stage, instead of concentrating on what Admiral Pike was saying, Jim had been trying to decide which bar he was going to escape to, the minute they were done. There were many options; during his three years in Starfleet he had gotten familiar with almost every bar in the state. If he went to any of his favorites the bartenders would certainly remember his face. They'd know his favorite drinks, the guys hanging around there would call him a hero and get him rounds, and the girls would be plentiful and sexy as hell. But that wasn't what Jim was looking for. Those bars were the ones he went to after acing exams, outsmarting professorsm or just being happy. They were for celebrating. Jim needed someplace to mourn.

_The Drunken Delta _was where he ended up—a dive in every sense of the word. With its cracked leather stools, dismal lighting, and almost constantly malfunctioning computers, it had garnered itself a reputation as being the only place miserable enough for someone to comfortably drink away their sorrow in it. No one chatted. No one flirted. The music was kept loud enough to drown out the patrons' upsetting thoughts and the corners were kept dark enough to allow people to weep without anyone seeing. It was exactly what he was looking for.

Behind the bar sat a Napean female named Steda who listened patiently to whoever was brave enough to actually tell their story to her. Jim had seen her the minute he walked in and had sat in a booth off in the corner, as far away as possible. He knew Napeans. He knew about their empathic abilities. Jim didn't want anyone near his emotions; no one else needed to hurt today like he did. Unfortunately, since 85% of the bar patrons were either Starfleet officers or past Starfleet officers (like Steda) and Jim's concern was needless. Everyone was grieving here; everyone's mind was stuck in the event of a year ago, when Vulcan and most of Jim's graduating class were the victims of a Romulan with a vendetta. Steda herself had been a Starfleet Cadet that fateful day, ready to sail on the _USS Farragut_ before getting lost in the commotion and missing her shuttle. Once she got word that almost all of her friends were dead, she had summarily resigned, instead deciding to spend her time tending bar for people as miserable as she was.

But, Jim didn't know any of this. And, not to be insensitive, but even if he had known, he wouldn't have cared. Once he was situated in the booth, Jim started ordering drinks and didn't stop. His mission was to get drunk. And, goddamn it, he was a Captain now and if he couldn't get a mission completed, who could? Steda, recognizing who Jim was right away, opened up her secret stash of Romulan Ale for him and then proceeded to watch in both amazement and horror as he downed the entire bottle in an hour and started ordering glasses of Saurian brandy to chase it down with. Admittedly, the bottle of ale had been more than half empty, but still, that was a lot of alcohol for one Human. In all her time as a bartender, she'd never seen someone so unabashedly determined to drink themselves into the floor. She filled his orders tentatively after that and discreetly pulled up his file. The way the captain was already teetering in his seat didn't make her optimistic about him walking out of here tonight, so it was best to have his emergency contacts on hand.

In between his second glass of Saurian brandy and a shot of Jack, Jim had a strange moment of clarity in which he wondered what Spock was doing. Earlier in the day, he and his first officer had stood side by side on the stage as Pike dedicated a newly made fountain to those who had died a year ago. Jim had thought it was ridiculous; it was almost the size of a swimming pool and in the center sat a red orb, probably representing Vulcan, that rotated solemnly as the slow-moving water underneath moved it along. Jim had snuck glances at Spock throughout Pike's speech. If the other man was feeling anything, Jim couldn't tell; his face was stiff and cold, revealing nothing about what was going on behind it. But right after the ceremony was over, Spock had rented a shuttle with Uhura and set off, probably to find someplace sufficiently isolated enough for them to cuddle or grope fingers or do whatever else they did when they were alone and Spock allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Jim hoped he was all right. In the year after Nero, the two men had become fairly good friends. Certainly, the Vulcan was no McCoy, but they were getting there. They didn't talk much, and when they did, it was usually over chess and restricted to ship issues. Still, it was a start and Jim was glad for that. Spock was a good guy and a fantastic First Officer. Jim toasted to the hope Spock was being well cared for and threw back the shot as though it was water.

The drinking continued steadily after that. As other patrons got up and stumbled away, Jim stayed where he was, nursing his drinks and listening to the loud, banging music. After his fourth Saurian brandy, he ordered a shot of some girly sounding liqueur and threw it back. Instantly, his eyes swam. All the alcohol that he had consumed over the past three hours seemed to strike him all at once. He had been warned that Romulan Ale had a delayed hit. That was part of the reason that it was so dangerous. And, Jim realized with a sardonic smile, he had chased a fourth of a bottle of it with more alcohol than he could count. For a second, his eyes went dark and he thought he was finally going to pass out, but the moment passed without him. Still, the bar was swirling together into a blur, and the music started to hurt his head. Jim assessed the situation.

He was drunk. Really drunk. Probably so much so that he should start worrying about alcohol poisoning. But still, he wasn't drunk _enough_; he still could see the wreckage of Federation ships—ships with classmates, friends, and lovers in them— in his mind. He could still smell the hot air of Vulcan. He could still feel. And feeling hurt. '_Mission incomplete_,' he decided as he ordered something. In his dizziness, he wasn't quite sure what it was. But for all he cared, it could be rubbing alcohol. As long as it shut his mind the hell up. His stomach was churning, his eyes were fogged, and his mind was wrapped up in tragedies long gone. Jim knew this was bordering on suicidal stupidity now, but he was already too far gone to care. He rested his head against the coolness of the table and waited for his mystery drink. Just for a second, he let his eyes close, praying for a moment or two of blessed unconsciousness. But right as he was about to doze off, the bell on the door chimed loudly, announcing that another miserable soul had joined their ranks.

The new arrival, a Vulcan woman, stood in the doorway of the decrepit bar and, for a second, almost looked disgusted. A few heads turned to look at her as she lingered there, scanning the crowd with determined-looking, dark brown eyes.

"You going to come in?" Steda yelled over the roar of the music. Jim lifted his head up to see who the bartender was talking to. At first, to him, there were four people standing in the doorway before his eyes focused and they settled into one. Instantly he felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. What was a Vulcan doing in a place like this? Especially an incredibly attractive, Starfleet Vulcan (if the uniform she was wearing was genuine). The woman instantly set her eyes upon Jim's and set out towards him with purpose. For the moment, he watched her approach and examined her as well as he could with a brain soaked in alcohol.

She was gorgeous, that much was clear. Her figure was svelte, like most Vulcans, and also like most Vulcans, she had dark, practically black hair, which she kept out of her face in a long ponytail. Her skin was lightly tanned, a sharp contrast to Spock, who was always so fair. In her hand were two PADDs, which she gripped tightly. She made her way over to Jim with the straight-backed, focused gait of someone with a plan. Jim turned his attention to his drink, irrationally hoping she was looking for someone else.

"Captain Kirk?" she demanded, once she reached him. Jim downed what was left in his brandy glass, but didn't respond. Steda came by, picking up the empty glass and replacing it with the new drink. From the look of it, it was something fruity. The woman moved in closer.

"Are you Captain James Tiberius Kirk?"

Jim was planning on saying 'Who wants to know, you disruptive harpy?', but when he opened his mouth to say that, all that came out was, "Whaaa?"

The woman's nose scrunched up for a moment, "You appear to be significantly inebriated."

"You appear to be….to be _Vulcan_," he replied back, as though that were a comeback.

"Indeed. I had hoped to find you in a less … mentally compromised… state for this interaction. However, I find myself forced to proceed despite your intoxication. "

Jim stared at her openly, watching as the lines of her face blurred in and out of focus and wondered what the hell she wanted from him.

"You are James Tiberius Kirk, are you not?"

Jim laughed humorlessly. "Don't…don't cha watch the news? Imma celebrity! A hero!" He downed his drink as a toast to that, feeling the welcome burn of alcohol on his throat as the world spun dangerously around him with new ferocity.

"Phenotypically, you are substantially similar to other humans of your gender and approximate coloring. I merely wished to confirm, with greater than ninety-nine percent certainty, that you were who I believed you to be, before I continued," the woman replied quietly. "I have an urgent request to make of you, Captain Kirk."

Kirk looked at the Vulcan as though she were crazy. He opened his mouth slowly, trying his best to focus on what he wanted to say. He wanted to explain to her that this was the absolute worst time to be asking something of him. That he was in no mood to listen to any request she or anyone else in the world had. And that he, on principle, would probably deny her request if she persisted, simply because she was annoying him.

"I'm _really _drunk…" Jim settled on, hoping she would get the message.

"Yes, that much is clear. Unfortunately, with your ceremonial functions completed, you and your ship will be leaving tomorrow and given mission schedule it is conceivable that this is my only opportunity to speak with you."

Jim squinted, trying to force his brain into sobering up for a few seconds. It gave him the proverbial finger.

"Fine. Ya got… Ya got until I pass out. Go."

"I wish to join your crew," she said plainly, as though this was the most common, natural thing to say in a bar. The whole place went silent after that. There was no chattering, no weeping. Even the music jerked to an abrupt stop, leaving everyone in the room with their ears ringing and trying to deal with the sudden silence around them. Jim, looked around to see if anyone else was having this experience. Had he, out of shock, gone deaf? Unlikely. Just as he was about to think that he was hallucinating, he heard Steda kick something behind the bar and the music started up again.

"Ya made the music go 'way…" Kirk mumbled, his compromised mind impressed with that feat.

"That was merely a coincidence. But returning to my original intention, I wish to confer to you that I come highly recommended, Captain." She handed over one of the PADDs. Jim looked at it a moment, but only saw smudges where the words should be. He set it on the table and looked at her expectantly.

"Sumer…Summummer… Suzzerize… Oh fuck it. Tell me wha's on that," Jim said, shoving the PADD back towards her.

"It has letters of recommendation from several distinguished professors at Starfleet and three from former professors of mine, from the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Y'were at the Aience Ascademy?" Jim slurred, losing his battle with the alcohol in his system.

"Affirmative. I was particularly accomplished in the areas of power-generation and was a leader in remodeling matter/antimatter reaction chambers in more efficient ways. Had Vulcan not been destroyed, I believe my experiments would have revolutionized warp travel."

Jim didn't really follow most of that, but nodded as best he could, "So yer an engineer?"

"No. I am a researcher. But, I am hoping to be a nurse on board your vessel."

Jim blinked. Now, he knew he was completely wasted, but he suspected that even if he wasn't that wouldn't have made any sense.

"Nurse? Why? You seem t' be more an engineerin', science-y sorta girl…"

"That is correct. However, the _Enterprise _is neither in need of any engineers nor any science officers. What you _are_ lacking is a nurse, so that is the job I am requesting to be given."

"Oh," that made a little more sense, "Are ya qualif… quaili… can ya do the job?"

"When Starfleet first opened their doors to Science Academy members, I started taking classes in microbiology, alien anatomy, and medical procedures. I am, as you tried to say, 'qualified' for this post." She handed over the other PADD. "This shows all the certifications that I have acquired over the year."

Jim was glad the woman was Vulcan and could therefore not lie, because he wasn't about to verify anything she said at this point. His vision was currently going through a funnel of some sort; no peripherals, just the image in front of him of the beautiful Vulcan female watching him expectantly. Jim knew it wouldn't be long before he was going to either pass out or die. At this point, he didn't even know which he preferred.

"Alright… Alright. You can be the nurse on th' condition you lea'me alone now. Deal?"

The woman nodded and quickly stood up before Jim could change his mind.

"Wait! Wait!"He remembered before she got too far, "Whassyer name? I need ta know yer name soz'I can hit on ya later..."

The woman considered for a moment, like her name was something direly secretive. Finally, she walked a few steps closer so she wouldn't have to shout.

"T'Pring. My name is T'Pring."

She watched him carefully after she said that, almost as though she were expecting some sort of reaction. When none came, she gave a curt nod and left the bar. Jim repeated the name once she was gone, getting to know the feel of it on his tongue.

"T'Pring… Nurse T'Pring…"

He reached out blindly for something to drink, but before he could grab anything, the final shreds of his consciousness finally slid out of his none-too-firm grasp and he crashed headfirst onto the table. With his last bit of thought, Jim wondered to himself if maybe during his life, Spock ever knew a T'Pring.

"Nurse T'Pring… Welcome to the _USS_ fuckin' _Enterprise._"

And then the world went black.


	2. Spock's Broken Heart

**Title**: Say It if You Mean It

**Author**: Nnej Nivroop

**Universe**/**Series**: Reboot

**Rating**: PG-13

**Relationship status**: Preslash for what will feel like forever (Slow-Building)

**Word count**: 2686 (for now)

**Genre**: Romance mostly

**Warnings**: Naughty words, het!yay, homo!yay, and always wear a helmet

**Additional Pairings**: Spock/Uhura

**Summary**: Spock thought she was dead; he was sure of it. But here T'Pring was on the USS Enterprise. And with what she has planned, he's going to wish she had died.

**A/N**: Woo! I would like to say now, the K/S in this is going to be EXTREMELY slow building. If you want quick smex, this is NOT your fic. Also, I wanted to give a huge thank you to my AMAZING beta, proudcockatrice who everyone should bow to in wonder and awe. Any remaining mistakes are my own, so no blame to the mighty beta :D

* * *

Spock felt that the planet Starfleet decided upon for the Vulcan colony was an entirely unsuitable replacement. For one, the humidity was 5.6% higher than Vulcan's was. Secondly, the mineral content in the soil was incompatible with the floral specimens the Vulcan scientist and agriculturalists were trying to transplant. Thirdly, Amanda Grayson was nowhere to be found. Cognitively, Spock knew that it wasn't the planet's fault that his mother wasn't here. Regardless, it was hard to feel 'at home' without her.

Walking around the house in which his father now resided, Spock half expected to hear his mother's humming echoing off the walls, or smell the banana-nut bread that she always baked for him, whenever he came home. Instead the house was silent enough that Spock found himself walking a little bit heavier, just so that his footsteps made some noise. And the only smell in the air was the dry, musky odor of the incense his father favored for meditation. It gave Spock a headache.

He decided to wait outside for his father to finish his meditation. The sky was bright from the light of the dual suns. Some native avian species were flying overhead, and a native bug was biting his arm. This planet was alien. It was not where Spock grew up. It didn't look a thing like it. How did one adjust to such a drastic change? Watching the people walking by, Spock realized that most of them had had all year to deal with this new planet. They walked around comfortably and with practiced precision. This was the first time Spock had visited; he felt as out of place as he had as a child.

Turning his attention away from the street, Spock focused on the sky. In some areas, it was darkening and a few distant stars were shining through. However, Spock couldn't help but focus on the areas of darkness. For it was a fact that somewhere out there, there was a black hole. Actually, statically speaking, there were countless black holes. But only one was of particular notice to Spock today; the one that served as a grave to the woman who gave birth to him. Who had loved him unconditionally. Who, no matter what, had been a proud mother.

As this anniversary approached, Spock had found himself attempting to prepare himself for the emotions he now faced. More than once, he had found himself in front of Captain Kirk, debating the most appropriate way to broach the subject of how to deal with the loss of a parent. In the end, he had never asked, instead turning the conversation to how best to improve dilithium performance or something else wholly practical but entirely irrelevant. He had tried meditating and reestablishing the mental barriers in his mind, to block out the negative emotions. However, as the anniversary grew closer, Spock found himself lacking the necessary solitude for proper meditation. Nyota, despite all the positive aspects she brought to their relationship, was singularly unskilled in dealing with Vulcans and their grief. She always seemed to think there was something she could do, as though the gaping hole in his chest could be mended with a kiss or a long conversation— a common human misconception. She had been incessant ,the last few weeks, constantly asking Spock what he needed from her, what she should do, how he was dealing, what she could do to help. In the end, he was forced to request that she simply allow him to deal with the loss of his planet and mother alone. She had been annoyed and had almost started a quarrel, but for the time being, she granted his request and shelved the fight for another, less troubling time.

"Spock," spoke a familiar voice from behind him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Spock turned around and greeted his father who looked worn and tired. Spock suspected he appeared similarly weary.

"Tushah nash-veh k'du, Spock," Sarek said carefully, choosing his words with precision, as always.

Spock nodded respectfully, shifting his weight just a little from foot to foot. What does one say in this situation, he wondered. Does one address the proverbial elephant in the room, or does one skirt the issue?

"How has the colony fared over the year? I regret not visiting at an earlier, more pleasant time." Spock said, just a little too quickly. His father didn't seem to notice.

"The colony is prospering. The survivors are committed to its survival and prosperity. Many Vulcans who were off-world at the time of the attack have returned to help with the rebuilding."

'Unlike you,' remained unspoken in the air between them. Spock suddenly became interested in a man carrying something in a bag across the road. Sarek watched his son with an appraising eye.

"Have you been taking precautions to maintain your health?" He asked finally. Spock looked back at him.

"Yes father," was the vague answer. Sarek took a slow, bracing breath.

"It is not easy. Even in our culture of logic, one must recognize and respect the power of grief. We have traditionally handled loss through rituals for preserving the memories of the deceased, but with the loss of Vulcan, we have lost the temples, we have lost generations of katra, and we have lost many of the people who could have begun to repair that damage. But, we have not lost everything, and much of what is lost can still be regained." Sarek reached out, eyes soft, and rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "Your mother was more human than I can hope to comprehend or than you will ever be, but I know that she loved you, dearly. Perhaps it will be some comfort to you, to remember that."

Spock felt his eyes burn as though dust had been kicked into them. He realized at once that he was keeping his eyes open wider than was natural. It was an illogical attempt to stop the tears accumulating there from falling (which only succeeded in exposing more of his cornea to the dry air, making them tear more severely). Spock closed his eyes tightly, feeling the wetness of his tears soak his eyelashes, but go no further than that.

"I…regret that I never returned the sentiment to her," Spock said softly, hoping his voice would stay strong and steady.

"Things do not always need to be said explicitly to be understood."

"Some things _should _be said explicitly, even if they _are_ understood."

Spock kept his eyes shut, not daring to risk opening them at the moment. Sarek didn't push the issue and stood there in silence while his son collected himself. Once he had, Sarek led Spock into the house and brought him into the kitchen area. A replicated mug of tea was waiting for him there. Spock sat and held the mug in his hands, enjoying the warmth. Outside the two setting suns that shone on this planet were casting the room in a warm orange glow.

"Have you met Selek?" Spock asked abruptly, changing the topic to his counterpart from the other reality.

"I have. He has proven invaluable to the rebuilding efforts."

Spock was glad to hear that; Selek being of assistance to the colony helped assuage the guilt he felt for choosing life onboard the _Enterprise,_ instead of assisting in the transition of his people. Not that he could explain that to his father, who almost continuously supplied Spock with all the logical reasons he should leave Starfleet and help the colony. Privately, Spock suspected his father's primary incentive for trying to get him to return was loneliness. And that was legitimate, he now realized, since he saw how isolating and cold this house was without his mother around.

"When must you return to your ship?" Sarek asked, watching the setting suns through one of the windows.

"I will not need to leave until the morning," Spock supplied, following it up quickly with, "However, we shall be returning to the colony in a fortnight. Our mission is to obtain new flora which research has suggested would be a fruitful food source for this planet. The specimen is plentiful on a planet with similar environmental conditions to this one so there is no logical reason for why it would not flourish in the soil here. After the mission is completed, we shall have a month of shore leave before we depart on our first five year mission. I will make it a priority to return here frequently in that span of time."

Sarek kept his face blank and simply nodded hearing his son's plans, but Spock could see the worry hidden—furrowed in a small spot between his father's eyes. So soon after losing his wife, having a son so far away would be difficult for Sarek, Spock recognized. And five years, while short in Vulcan terms, was still not an insubstantial amount of time to be away. Instantly, Spock felt guilt crawl it's way into the already jumbled mess of feelings lumped in his stomach. It was illogical to feel guilty about doing one's duty, he knew. His father understood that. That didn't make Spock feel any better.

Unsettled, Spock brought his tea up to his lips to finally take a sip before it cooled completely. But, before the cup could touch his lips, the vapors from the glass reached his nose and it was all Spock could do to not drop his mug in shock. Banana-nut. His father had replicated banana-nut tea, or at least something that smelled nearly identical to it. For the second time, his eyes burned.

"It is an inadequate replacement for what your mother prepared. But, it is a well established fact that continuing with traditional or otherwise routine activities help alleviate a portion of the loss one feels after the death of a loved one. Memories recollected in such a way stress the positive influence the decedent had in one's life. Remembering them in such a way can be…consoling. It was my hope that this would be the case for you."

"Thank you, father," Spock all but whispered, voice cracking. Sarek bowed his head, contemplating his own mug. It looked as though it had been sitting on the table for awhile. Like Spock's, it remained full.

"Though it has only been a year, adjusting to life without her has made the time seem to pass much slower. I find it difficult to accept that this is simply the first of many anniversaries marking her death," Sarek said honestly.

"I have also experienced that sensation," Spock replied, still working on keeping his emotions from overtaking him.

Sarek sighed slowly and deliberately. Spock looked up to meet his father's eye, but found he couldn't hold it. Throughout the day (and indeed over the last week) Spock had found himself ashamed of his inability to control his grief. Throughout the year, he had successfully managed to push upsetting thoughts to the back of his mind and to meditate away any lingering sadness or anger. However, on the anniversary of the day, it was increasingly difficult for Spock to focus his thoughts—to keep his sadness and fury at bay. He felt like a coil wrapped too tightly or a tea kettle right before the boiling point. Spock looked back at his father and saw, perhaps for the first time in his life, the same almost-breaking -point tension reflected back at him.

"The genes you have inherited from her manifested most predominantly in your eyes."

Spock didn't have a reply. He had heard this same sentiment from others before: _"You have such human eyes". _It had always been a weakness to him, but today, Spock felt he should take pride in it.

"I find myself reminded of her by the strangest of things. A scarf on a chair was the most recent example I experienced. It made me recollect the head-wrapping she would wear to shield herself from the sun." Spock paused a moment, letting the memory wash through him. "I miss her tremendously,"

Sarek looked distressed for a moment before his face returned to its apathetic mask. He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by Spock's communicator. With an apology, Spock answered it and was greeted by a voice he did not recognize.

"Commander Spock?" the woman asked, sounding concerned.

"Yes. To whom am I speaking?"

"Steda. My name is Steda. I am the bartender at _The Drunken Delta_." She seemed to be worried. Spock excused himself from his father and walked into another room to continue the conversation.

"How may I assist you?"

"I have your Captain in here. Captain Kirk?" Her distress was evident now. Spock couldn't help but worry over what his impulsive captain had gotten himself involved in now. No doubt a brawl of some sort.

"How seriously was he injured? Be certain that the damage your establishment accrued will be repaired by Starfleet," Spock said, jadedly.

"Oh! No. He's not injured like that. He's been in here for a while and has had a lot to drink. I think it's safe to say he's got alcohol poisoning. I've called Medical for him to be transported, but you're on file as his emergency contact. You'll want to come down here and answer any questions the med team has."

"How much is 'a lot'? Captain Kirk has an enviable tolerance for alcohol."

"Well, he started off with Romulan Ale and kept going from there. Honestly, I'd be hard-pressed to find something he _hasn't_ drunk here tonight. "

"Romulan Ale is illegal," Spock said as though she were unaware.

"Are you going to come for him?" Steda said quickly, "If you're not, tell me who will. Someone needs to be here for him."

Spock pursed his lips in irritation. He hadn't wanted to leave, but if his Captain was in trouble, it was his duty to help.

"I will be there shortly. I request that you monitor his condition carefully until then. I also believe it would be beneficial to know precisely what he ingested. If you could also provide a list of all his drinks, that would be helpful. "

"I might as well just give you the drink menu."

"If you believe that to be most beneficial to his recovery, then that is acceptable."

Steda hung up after that. He closed his communicator with an annoyed snap and returned to his father.

"You have to leave." It wasn't a question.

"So it would appear. I apologize for the brevity of my visit."

"Your apology is appreciated, but unnecessary. If the circumstances surrounding your departure are an emergency, it would be logical to make use of the transporter in the town center to return to your ship. The walk to where it was docked could take as much as an hour. Depending on your situation, you may not have the luxury of that time."

Spock had been unaware that the colony was equipped with transporters. Had he known, he would have used them instead of wasting the time travelling on foot.

"It is a most urgent emergency," Spock confirmed, hoping his father knew he would not leave for anything _less_. "I will do as you suggest."

Sarek stood up and walked his son to the door. Once there, he held his hand up in the traditional ta'al.

"Live long and prosper, my son"

"Peace and long life, father."

Spock turned to walk away, pulling his communicator out to notify Doctor McCoy about the captain's condition, but before he had walked too far, a hand fell on his shoulder, turning him around. For the first time, he saw emotion raw and bleeding on his father's face; pain painted in shades too vibrant to ignore. It hit Spock like punch in the stomach—the idea his father _felt_ like this. But at the same time, it comforted him immensely.

"Your mother was not the only one who was proud of you, Spock. Nor was she the only one who loved you. I…felt it pertinent to impart this before you left."

Spock was at a loss for words and simply stood there. Acutely, he was aware that some response was necessary, but could not find an appropriate one.

"I love you too, father," he settled on after a minute, hoping that that was fitting. Sarek's face lightened immediately before all residual emotion sank away like water in sponge. Once again, Spock was faced with the stoic face he remembered.

"Stay in communication while you are away. I would appreciate being kept apprised of your activities."

"I will."

And with that, Sarek released his son and returned to his house. Spock continued his walk to the transporter, feeling lighter and more at peace than he had all day.


	3. Jim's Big Mistake

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* * *

"Has the captain regained consciousness, Doctor?"

"No…not yet. Goddamn it, what was he thinking?"

The room was silent. Jim, unbeknownst to his friends, was starting to come to. His head felt as though there were sandbags pressing on it. He had no idea where he was, but the lights above his head hurt too much for him to open his eyes to look. Barely awake, he lay there listening to Spock and Bones talk about him.

"It has been my experience that the captain's motives often defy explanation," Spock answered McCoy plainly.

"It was a rhetorical question," McCoy all but snapped back.

"I was aware of that fact. It was my intention to provide some levity to the situation at hand."

"_Levity_? My best friend practically killed himself!"

"Shhhh…Too loud," Jim finally managed to mumble out. His mouth felt like someone had shoved cotton into it.

"Jim! You're awake!" McCoy yelled, rushing to his friend's side.

"Ugh… Unfortunately, yeah. Seriously though… you're too loud."

"You're lucky I'm not playing goddamn opera and shining a strobe light in yer eyes! Half a bottle of Romulan Ale? Were you _trying _to die?"

Jim finally opened his eyes. McCoy's face looked tired. Spock stood some distance behind the doctor, looking stiff, but otherwise fine. Jim inspected the room, trying to place where he was. It was hard for him to focus on it clearly, but the blurs didn't seem to be familiar. It was obviously a house of some sort, but that was all he could tell. He seemed to be in the living room, sprawled out on the couch. On the floor next to him was an empty bucket. A sudden churn in his stomach let him know that it wouldn't remain empty for long. A mechanical patch on the back of his hand buzzed softly. Jim recognized it instantly as a Rehydration Patch and, by the looks of it, it was almost depleted. He searched his memory for how he had gotten here. Last thing he remembered was being in a bar. Everything else was a haze.

"You gonna answer me?" McCoy pressed, less angry and more concerned this time. Spock, too, took a step forward, interested in Jim's answer.

"It wasn't a half a bottle," he deflected gracelessly.

"That fact is irrelevant to the current line of questioning," Spock cut in, his eyes narrowed in a sort of subtle, disbelieving way. "Doctor McCoy has asked you whether your intentions tonight were motivated by suicidal ideation. Your reluctance to answer implies the affirmative."

Jim knew that it 'implied the affirmative', but that wasn't why he was avoiding the question. At the beginning of the night, he had just been drinking to drown out some of his pain. But, after ordering the four glasses of Saurian Brandy? After chasing all of that down with who knows how many shots? He couldn't say that all of that self -destructive behavior was just him looking for some comfort at the bottom of a bottle. But, he also couldn't say he was trying to end it all either. In truth, Jim couldn't answer McCoy's question because he wasn't sure what the answer was.

"I knew I wouldn't die," Jim said finally, trying his best to sound cocky and self-assured.

"You drank enough to put down a full grown Klingon! If that bartender hadn't called Spock when she did, you would hav-"

"She called _you_?" Jim interrupted, turning to Spock with a confused look on his face.

"As your first officer, I am your primary emergency contact," he explained coolly.

"Mistake if ya ask me… I shoulda been the one called. I'm your CMO, your _personal_ physician, not to mention your best friend. Besides, I got to ya years before Ol' Pointy Ears here…" McCoy grumbled.

"34.7 minutes is not 'years', doctor," Spock replied tersely. "I transported back to my shuttle immediately, that I might most quickly render my assistance with the captain." That the journey back to earth had been one of the longest half-hours of his life remained unsaid. "You had barely stabilized him when I arrived. Furthermore, without my assistance, relocating him here would have taken at least an hour."

Jim felt guilty and more than a little embarrassed. He had pulled Spock away from Uhura and their grieving to take care of his stupid, drunk self. He tried to sit up a bit to talk to his friends better, but a strong surge of nausea hit him the minute he was upright, replacing what he was going to say with dry heaves over the bucket. McCoy made a disgusted noise and pulled out a tricorder, passing it over Jim as he tried in vain to throw up something other than air.

"I suppose there's something to be said for drinking on an empty stomach; not much left for you to hurl up now."

"Lucky me…"Jim said weakly back, leaning back, feeling sicker than he had in quite some time. McCoy passed his tricorder around Jim's head a few times, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at whatever he was seeing on the read-out. The gentle 'pings' of the machine awakened something urgent in Jim's mind, but it faded as quickly as it came; an echo disappearing in a deep cavern.

"I don't know how you were even conscious long enough to drink this much," McCoy mumbled more than said, pocketing the tricorder. The lights above Jim hadn't dimmed any and were making his head split in pain. He leaned forward to shade his eyes a bit, but the motion only sent him into another fit of dry heaves.

"Not to sound ungrateful for you obviously saving my life," he said breathlessly, in between the unproductive retches, "but don't you have something for this? Something medicine-y? And strong? Preferably strong enough to knock me out?" Jim asked desperately. McCoy muttered that he should just let Jim suffer as he got up and left the room for the medicine. Alone with Spock, Jim let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry…" He started, looking over at his first officer as best he could. Mercifully, Spock walked closer, into the space where McCoy had just been in, next to the couch.

"I am uncertain as to what you are apologizing for," Spock replied back. Jim took a few deep breaths to steady himself before laying back down on the couch.

"I dunno… everything I guess. I'm sorry I got wasted and pulled you away from Uhura. I'm sorry for interrupting your short reprieve. I'm sorry for…" Jim couldn't bring himself to say it. He just couldn't say to Spock, 'I'm sorry for what happened a year ago'. It was too personal. It was too painful. Jim let the words hang unspoken between them.

"There is no need to apologize for 'pulling me away' from Uhura. She and I parted shortly after the ceremony."

"Really?" Jim had sworn he had seen both of them get into the rented shuttle together.

"Yes, Captain. I suggested she remain with her relatives in Eastern Africa while I went to the Vulcan colony to meet with my Father."

"That's kinda far for a day trip."

"It seemed… an appropriate place to spend my time," the words came out thick and forced. Jim watched Spock carefully. The area around his eyes looked tense as he struggled with himself, obviously trying to maintain control. Jim decided to help the only way he could think of: he kept talking.

"Uhura didn't want to go with you?"

"I am unsure of her desires in the matter; it was _my_ suggestion that she not accompany me. I was not expecting my visit to be a pleasant one. It would have been unfair to force her into what would most likely be an uncomfortable evening."

Jim was confused, "But…that's what relationships are for. You're supposed to be there for each other."

"I do not agree with your assessment."

"It's not an 'assessment'! It's just a truth."

Spock narrowed his eyes, "Forgive me, Captain, but given your current reputation with partners, I do not consider you to be an expert in the nuances of long term relationships."

Ouch. Jim wasn't quite sure that he had deserved that sort of shut-down remark. Spock looked almost embarrassed a moment before ducking his head respectfully.

"My apologies, Captain. My response was unwarranted."

"Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have been butting into your business anyways," Jim said back, not as genuinely as he had wanted to sound.

Spock considered for a second. "Given the fact that moments ago, I called into question your mental stability, I believe your comment about relationships was not crossing any established barriers between us."

Jim laughed for a moment before realizing with a groan that laughing made his already pained head almost split apart. Nausea awakened with renewed vigor in his stomach. Jim breathed deeply, trying to contain it, mostly in vain.

"Are you alright, Captain?"

"Uuuuuugh… I think I'm going to puke."

"If that is the case, it would be best if you cease lying on your back, lest you aspirate your stomach contents. I can assist, if necessary."

"Uuugh… I'm never drinking again."

"I find the veracity of that statement dubious…" Spock said softly, almost inaudibly. Jim would have commented or laughed or teased, but he felt that familiar cramp in his stomach that meant it wouldn't be a bad idea to take Spock's advice and get off his back. He tried to sit up but found himself suddenly too weak to do so. Not wanting to push his body, Jim settled himself back down and tried to collect his strength.

"Where am I?" he finally asked, distracting himself for the moment.

"Doctor McCoy's residence. The bartender at the establishment in which you spent your evening alerted Medical to have you transported to a hospital. I contacted Doctor McCoy and he arrived promptly to assist with the situation. It was he who stabilized you. It was also he who suggested that your previous condition would lead to professional embarrassment, were you to be admitted to a hospital, as that would alert Starfleet."

"So, he brought me to his house instead?" Jim looked around, eyes a bit clearer now. Sure enough, the place was now becoming recognizable.

"He convinced the responding medical team that he was fully qualified to handle your condition and that it was unnecessary for you to be admitted into any medical facility. They did not concur immediately, but Doctor McCoy was…persuasive."

"How bad was I?" Jim managed to ask, struggling to lift his torso off the pillow. Even after the time he spent bracing himself for the move, he was unable to sit up. Spock walked over to the couch and with barely any effort at all lifted Jim by the shoulders so that he was upright again.

"Your blood-alcohol level was…extremely high," Spock said in lieu of actually answering the question.

"Extremely high? So….what… Did I wet myself? Throw up? What happened?"

Spock took a deep breath and cast a quick glance toward the door. "Doctor McCoy requested that I refrain from telling you the extent of your condition. He was unsure what effect knowing would have on your mentality. However, I feel it would be in your best interests to know how your drinking damaged your body. Hopefully it will lead to you abstaining from repeating this behavior in the future or at the very least, drinking in a more responsible mann-"

"I'm ready to throw up everything I've eaten in the last year. Can you get to the point?" Jim interrupted petulantly, resting his head back and breathing deep to relax his body.

"My apologies. Your blood alcohol level when we found you was point three four. I am unsure if you are aware of the bodily effects that volume of alcohol has."

Jim wasn't positive, but he knew from school and from run ins with the law that above .35, people _died_. And he had almost been there.

"I don't know the specifics… But, I know that's bad," Jim confessed. "What happened to me?"

"When Doctor McCoy first responded, he was… uncertain if you were breathing." Spock said that softly, almost gently. Jim tried not to let that comment affect him. So what if he had almost depressed his central nervous system to the point of stopping his breathing? No biggie. A cramp in his lower stomach made him burp a little, wetly. Unlike the other heaves, Jim knew this time, something was getting purged from his system. His pulse picked up in his temples and his face turned green with illness.

"Did I actually _stop_ breathing?" Jim wanted clarification, and wanted it quickly.

"For a moment, only. Doctor McCoy had brought medicine for just such an occurrence and was able to restart your respiratory functions almost immediately after they ceased. He was also able to raise your heart rate to acceptable levels and repair the damage to your liver."

Jim could feel the bile in his throat rise dangerously high. "I really did almost kill myself, didn't I?"

"Had Steda not alerted Medical and myself when she did, you breathing could very well have ceased before anyone qualified to assist you had arrived. And, were that the case, your body would have been deprived of oxygen for an extended period, possibly damaging your brain or other vital organs to lethal levels."

"So, your answer is 'Yeah, you did, ya jackass', right?"

"Those were not my words. The sentiment behind them, however, is accurate." Spock sat on the couch next to Jim, his face hard and stoic, but his eyes softened with genuine concern. "I would consider it a personal favor it if you did not return yourself to such a state again."

"I already told you…"Jim positioned himself above the bucket, letting out another wet sounding burp, "I'm never drinking again."

And with that, Jim threw up what ended up being mostly just green liquid. After heaving a few times, Jim leaned back again, only to find Spock's hand pressed against his back. Without Jim even asking, the Vulcan provided the explanation.

"It was my understanding that, when physically ill, humans enjoy physical contact with another as a way of consolation."

"Maybe when they're ten. I've puked many, many times, Spock. It's not that bad anymore."

Spock pulled his hand away immediately looking sheepish for a fleeting moment. Jim immediately backpedaled, "I do appreciate the gesture though. Thanks, Spock. It _did _make me feel a little better."

Spock nodded respectfully, face returning to its normal, emotionless mask. It was only a few more minutes before McCoy came back, hypospray in hand, and pumped Jim full of so many different drugs, the man felt drunk all over again. He also replaced the Rehydration Patch with a fresh one and Jim sighed, feeling immensely improved.

"Y-y'should bottle that stuff n' sell it, Bones," Jim said as he lay back down.

McCoy didn't reply, just mumbled under his breath and used his tricorder to monitor his friend's vitals. Jim closed his eyes and listened to the pings of the machine again.

"Ping, ping, ping…" Jim said in a sing-song way. McCoy smacked him on his head.

"You're not allowed to be in a good mood! You're damn lucky to even be breathing!"

"So I heard…"

"Goddamn moron. Four in the morning and, instead of getting some _needed _rest, I'm here takin' care of _your_ idiot ass."

"Send a nurse next time…" Jim suggested, head bopping along to the 'pings' again.

"Yea, like there are any left on the ship that'll wanna be around you when you're drunk. Don't forget, that's why Nurse Janis left."

Suddenly and with shocking clarity, Jim saw in his mind the face of a woman. She was both familiar and not at the same time.

"The Vulcan…." He said softly, trying to remember why she was important.

"What? What are you babblin' about now?"

"At the bar…" he remembered slowly, "a Vulcan woman came t' talk t' me…"

"For any particular reason?" Spock chimed in from behind the couch. Jim could hear him walking slowly back and forth.

Jim tried to think about what she wanted. He couldn't piece it together with so many dark spots in his head still. He remembered hearing her and only her; a bright voice in the middle of silence.

"She made the music stop…" Jim said reverently.

"He's outta his mind," Bones reasoned, going back to his tricorder.

Ping, ping, ping. The noise went into Jim's head and suddenly a piece of the memory came back in a flash.

"Ping. No, _Pring_! T'Pring! Her name was T'Pring."

There was a sharp, scuffing noise from where Spock was. Jim couldn't see it, but he assumed it had been from his first officer stopping dead in his tracks. McCoy noticed right away.

"You know her?" he asked Spock.

"I… I am acquainted with a Vulcan female by the name of T'Pring."

"You could have just said 'Yes', you know," McCoy grumbled.

"Hey! This is cool then, yeah?" Jim started. "Now you got a buddy on th' ship!"

There was no response from Spock. Jim tried to remember more about T'Pring. She had asked him something when he was drunk. The conversation like a thick smoothie and his brain an undersized straw. The pieces that came back were small and unclear. The more he tried to focus on it, the more the entire memory melted away. He remembered her face because of how beautiful she had been. He remembered her asking him something that couldn't wait. He remembered agreeing to what she asked. Everything else was nebulous and (he suspected) made up mostly from his imagination rather than from the actual event.

"Can you recall anything specific from your conversation with…T'Pring?" Spock asked, as though Jim wasn't already trying.

"She was hot…" Jim said sagely, nodding his head with a grin. Spock raised an eyebrow. Even drugged, Jim knew he was annoyed. "She also wanted something," he added quickly, hoping that would appease his first officer.

"Something…"Spock repeated back softly. McCoy glanced between the two of them, confused.

Jim tried to think hard. He could hear her voice in his head, but it was faint and muddled and drowning underneath the alcohol that had been in his system at the time. What had he said back to her? What had been the rest of the conversation? There were so many questions. If only she had come earlier. He could remember everything from before he had started to black out.

He focused his mind on her mouth from when she had been talking.

'_I am hoping to be…'_ She had said. Jim didn't remember why, but he did remember she had said that. Or at least he thought he remembered that. It was hard to be sure of anything at this point.

"She wanted a job on th' _Enterprise,_" Jim speculated.

"Are you…certain of this, captain?" Spock sounded as unabashedly shocked as Jim had ever heard him.

"No," he answered honestly. Jim knew she had asked him something important and knew she had said that she wanted to be something, but that was all he was _certain_ of. But really, it was as good a guess as any other. "Not a hundred percent, but I'm pretty sure."

"I apologize, but I must look into this new information. If you'll excuse me," Spock said curtly before leaving the room in a rush. McCoy watched him, intrigued.

"I don't think he and T'Pring like each other very much," he deduced, injecting Jim with something else.

"Yea...I got that feelin' too. She's hot though. You're gonna thank me fer hirin' her. "

"Doubt it. I just don't find Vulcans that attractive."

"Ah, c'mon…" Jim prodded blearily as the medicine McCoy injected him with moved through his system, "Thoss ears! Haaaaaaaaaaaaawt…."

"I'm endin' this conversation now," McCoy said, looking concerned.

"All I'm sayin' is tha' they've got tha' elf-y thing goin' on… It's _sexy_."

"I said I was endin' the conversation."

"Whatever. Xena… Xenori….Xenophon… Racist."

"Stick to simple words. Don't want you hurtin' yourself."

"Asshole."

"Alcoholic."

"The world looks blue. 's the world suppos' ta be blue?"

"Yes, Jim. The world is very sad. Now go to sleep."

"I dun think 's suppos' ta be blue…"

"Shh… Sleep."

And without any other argument, that's what Jim did.

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**Next Chapter: Spock confronts T'Pring! Ruh Row. **


	4. Spock's Past

**WOW! What work a little begging can do! Well, as _The Temptations _so aptly put it, 'I aint too proud to beg, sweet darlin'. So, as I said before****:**

_**If you like it? COMMENT**_

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_**If you hated it? I may not like it, but still COMMENT! I can learn and improve!**_

**And also, I know this chapter took awhile, but my beta was super busy. Trust that I have up to chapter 7 finished, so any and all delays are just in editing, not writing. I posted more about this on my profile, if you're interested :D**

**That being said! ENJOY!**

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Spock's present plan of action was illogical. He was aware of this, but had no alternative. From the moment his feet hit the concrete outside of Bones' apartment, there was only one objective: find T'Pring or whoever was currently using her name. The latter seemed more likely to Spock since, contrary to Kirk's recollection of the evening, the T'Pring he knew did not harbor any interest in working for Starfleet. Nor did she frequent bars. Also he was 97.8% certain that that T'Pring died during Nero's attack; he had felt the absence of their bond for a year.

Spock concentrated on the task at hand, not allowing confusion to cloud his mind. The ceremony had ended at approximately 16:02. The bartender had alerted Spock to his Captain's condition at 22:43. It was currently 3:12. So, logically, T'Pring had spoken to the Captain between 17:00 and 21:00, when he had still been conscious and capable of conversation. That gave T'Pring seven to ten hours in which to relocate herself. With that amount of time, she could potentially be anywhere. Not sure where to start, Spock found himself walking back towards _The Drunken Delta_, as though there were some statistically significant probability that she returned there.

Spock was acutely aware that the likelihood of him finding T'Pring this way—by blindly walking— was equivalent to someone finding Qo'noS by throwing a dart at a map of the Beta Quadrant. But he was unsure of how else to proceed. If the bond hadn't been severed, finding T'Pring would be simple; simply follow the bond to wherever she was. With it severed, she was just like any other random, psi-null person passing Spock on the sidewalk. It was frustrating to be so blind. If she were still alive, he should be able to sense her; the only ways to completely sever a bond were Kal-if-fee, a Vulcan healer separating them, or death. As far as he was concerned, the first two were impossible without his knowledge, leaving only death as the likely outcome.

It was possible that someone had adopted T'Pring's name and was masquerading as her. She had been an accomplished researcher and would have had no problem finding employment at the location of her choosing. But, something stirred in the back of Spock's mind that maybe, just maybe, his mate had survived. But, if she had, what became of the bond? Had she suffered a grievous injury which harmed her psychic abilities? Was she purposely hiding?

Just to verify that the bond was in fact truly dissolved, Spock stopped walking for a moment and concentrated hard to see if there was anything left of it in his mind. After the destruction of Vulcan, when he discovered the bond missing, he hadn't probed further, assuming his betrothed's fate. But now, he was less certain. So, he focused in and tried to feel around for something—anything—that would suggest T'Pring still lived.

Suddenly, with a shock, he felt something. Weak and barely there, like a strand of spider's silk catching sunlight, he found a small whisper of what used to be their bond. Shocked, he pulled at it in his mind, ascertaining that it was, in fact, really there. Through the feeble bond, he felt T'Pring's mind echoing back. Beckoning him to her. He took off in a brisk walk, following her thoughts wherever they led him.

In the end, he found her sitting by herself at a table outside a café. The restaurant appeared to be closed, but the tables had been left out. T'Pring watched him as he approached, setting the PADD she had been looking at off to the side. Spock walked right up to the table, unable to believe his eyes. He was intensely aware that he had not seen her for at 7.4 years. In that time, she had grown older and more beautiful, and he barely recognized her. She was wearing a Starfleet uniform. Logically, he understood this to mean that she had participated in the program Starfleet had started for surviving Vulcan Science Academy members, but it was still jarring to see her in a uniform which, only five years ago, had been a source of so much contention between them. But, looking into her eyes, there was no mistake. It was his T'Pring.

"Hello, Spock," she said softly, as though this had been a prearranged meeting he was late for.

Spock had no reply. There were so many questions he needed to ask. So many things that needed saying. The words were a jumbled mess in his head. He tried to make order of it all; number, prioritize, and arrange everything to maximize the efficiency of their impending conversation. But everything just slipped away and was replaced by something else from the madly spinning wheels of his mind. It was all being reduced to static. Loud, chaotic static.

"I expect you to have several questions regarding my disappearance. I am willing to answer them at this time."

"You're alive," was all he could focus on to say.

"Yes," T'Pring answered, although it hadn't been a question.

Spock pulled out the chair across from his betrothed and sat down stiffly. It was disconcerting to be this close to her and not be able to feel her mind fully in his. The fragment that remained only allowed Spock the most surface, shadowed view of her thoughts. It was like sitting across from T'Pring's ghost instead of her corpus. But given the fact that she was not even remotely translucent, Spock dismissed that idea as illogical.

"What…How did you survive?" It was not his most pertinent question nor the one he was most interested in the answer to, but it seemed as good a place as any other to start.

"I was off planet during the attack."

"The bond has been almost completely severed between us. How…if you are still alive and unharmed…how would this have happened?"

T'Pring's eyes moved away for a second in an expression Spock did not recognize. Guilt? More likely discomfort of some sort. She recovered quickly and took a bracing breath in. She seemed to be carefully considering what she would say. After a few moments of silent deliberation, she finally spoke, "It is something of a long story, but I assure you, it was intentional."

She brought her eyes back to Spock, looking at him levelly, gauging his reaction to what she had said. He kept her gaze, but otherwise did not react. Satisfied, she continued, "I presume you are unaware that I had chosen another mate. It had been my intention to keep it from you until I called for the Kal-if-fee."."

It was said conversationally, in the same way one would comment on the weather, and Spock kept his face blank as he suppressed the feeling of betrayal this confession awoke in him. It was not difficult. He had only need to remind himself of Nyota, to realize he was not the only wronged party in this relationship.

"I fail to see how this fact relates to my previous inquiry," Spock said, also in a light, unperturbed tone.

"I preferred the company of Stonn, to your constant absence," she said in the same, barely interested tone. It was as though they were discussing warp core temperatures, rather than an affair. "In an effort to preserve my relationship with him, and the honor of all our families, I conceived of a plan to sever my bond with you and vanish from the memory of Vulcan. It was my intention to fake my death in a transit shuttle explosion, on a world with limited verification procedures, so it would be a relatively simple matter to have myself erased from the public record. All that would remain is to sever the bond with you, and then I could return to Stonn under a new name, and we could have our simple life, out of the public eye."

A familiar name. Stonn had been an antagonistic presence in Spock's life from the moment he began his education. It had been an almost constant goal of Stonn's to elicit emotional responses from Spock to prove his own hypothesis that Vulcan had no place for such a hybrid. Spock remembered one particular event from his youth when Stonn had insulted his mother. Spock had broken his nose and fractured his shoulder. It had succeeded in stopping the abuse for almost a year. Spock pushed down the feeling of satisfaction that memory gave him now.

"While I can see the emotional appeal of such a plan, I am afraid I do not see a manner of logically progressing through the events, to a satisfactory conclusion. Did you imagine I would not find out?"

T'Pring took another deep inhale, directing her gaze somewhere over Spock's shoulder. "I had been informed that the Ronta'ac people had psychic abilities almost equivalent to our own. It was my intention to travel to the planet and request that they sever the bond. With no one on Vulcan informed of my plan, it was conceivable that you would not discover my deception."

"Such an attempt would have been both unlawful and dishonorable, to both your family and mine. Had you been discovered, you would not only have been prosecuted for this mild divergence, but also marked as an unsuitable mate, never to be paired again. Your family would have disowned you, and Vulcan society as well would have rejected you. There were other, more rational ways to acquire a separation."

"Certainly, I could potentially have been censured, if anyone realized I survived the explosion of the transit shuttle, leaving Ronta'ac. I booked passage on a freighter, headed for Andor, intending to return to Vulcan from there, under a different name. I hadn't considered my family disowning me; after all, by putting forth rumors of my death, I would disown them, first." She sighed, a peculiarly emotional expression. "Of course, the day before I was due aboard that freighter, our world was destroyed, and there was no longer a need to trouble with a reason for my demise. It would simply be presumed."

"Stonn survived as well?"

"No."

T'Pring's eyes drifted to the PADD beside her. Spock looked as well and saw that it was Stonn's personnel file—his picture taking up most of the screen.

"I had been misinformed. Though I believed him to be among the 10,000 survivors, I discovered, when I went to locate him, that he had perished with the planet. I severed our bond in vain."

Spock was silent for a moment, trying to be respectful of her loss. "But… why did you not contact me afterwards? I believed you to be dead."

"I was…not thinking logically after Stonn's death. I will not answer inquires about my activities during that time. After I had regained my control, I enlisted in Starfleet and pursued my studies there in a variety of fields. I had hoped a position would become available on board your ship which I could procure."

"Which, I understand, you have obtained."

"Indeed. I am now a nurse onboard your vessel."

"To what end?"

T'Pring's eyes flickered briefly to the PADD next to her before she sighed. "Given the current danger our race is in, I believe it to be our duty as Vulcans to fulfill our obligation to each other. The repopulation effort depends upon Vulcans conceiving children to ensure the continuation of our traditions and culture. Given that Stonn has died, it is only logical that I honor the original promise I had made to you."

Spock kept his eyes from growing larger, but just barely. She stated this as though it were the only logical course of action. And perhaps she was right. But that did not make Spock any more pleased with her plan. He couldn't help but think that she was simply settling for him since the more desirable of her partners had perished. That alone made him more than unwilling to go along with her idea. And then, there was also Uhura.

"I cannot acquiesce to your request," he said firmly. T'Pring raised one thin eyebrow up, almost to her hairline.

"I would like to hear your rationale for such an illogical decision."

"While your…alternative partner has died, mine has not."

T'Pring looked confused for a split second before looking, faintly irritated.

"You are currently romantically involved with someone?"

"I am. While I might express some acknowledgement of wrongdoing, under the circumstances and in light of your account, I perceive no wrong, on my part."

"Is your partner Vulcan?"

"She is not."

"Then she is hardly an appropriate substitution. Had Vulcan not been destroyed, perhaps you would have been afforded the luxury of pursuing a non-Vulcan partner, but given the fact that our breeding pool has been significantly reduced, it is imperative that you fulfill our betrothal agreement."

"Which you have already effectively nullified. I do not agree with your logic. Extended further, your argument suggests that any unbonded Vulcan is obligated to find and procreate with any available Vulcan partner, irrespective of their feelings toward them."

"That is correct."

Spock couldn't understand how T'Pring could be promoting such an absurd theory.

"I disagree. And furthermore, I have no intention of reinstating a bond with you given your eagerness to dissolve it prior to now," he said finally, fully intending to get up and leave the situation entirely.

"I did not expect you to agree immediately. That was the primary motivation behind my attempt to obtain employment onboard the same ship as you. Perhaps with enough time, I will be able to convince you of my logic."

Instantly, Spock became concerned. T'Pring, for her many faults, had always been persistent. If she was this insistent on this, he may be in for a difficult road with her on his ship.

"I cannot envision any conversation between us that will lead to me changing my mind on this matter. I have no intention now or in the future to reinstate my bond with you."

"It is not fully severed, presently," she said, almost defiantly.

"I had noticed. Is there any particular reason for why this is so?"

"The Ronta'ac people are not Vulcans," was the simple, almost shrugged answer. T'Pring exhaled sharply, as though she were suddenly frustrated with their conversation.

"Were we bonded; any qualms you might have had regarding our relationship would be remedied through time, as there would be no alternative to our eventual wedding. Also, once a child had been conceived between us, that would further assist, as it would give us a priority higher than our own personal concerns."

Spock couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It is the general consensus among parents that children do not eliminate problems, but rather add to them."

T'Pring did not seem to have a response. However, neither did she seem any less sure of herself. Spock was at a loss.

"You will see that I am correct," she said finally, picking up her PADD and getting up from her seat. "From what I have seen of our assignment statements, in approximately six weeks, we will be embarking on a five year mission. That time should be sufficient to convince you."

Spock felt dread—cold and heavy—settling into his stomach. This could not come to pass. There was no way he would be able to handle being on the same ship as T'Pring for five years. But preventing it was another matter entirely. Spock quietly considered his options as T'Pring waited for some sort of response. When none came, she extended two fingers towards him—a Vulcan kiss. For a second and a second only, Spock felt his muscles going out of habit to meet her. However, he caught himself before he had actually even moved and, instead, pushed himself away from the table.

T'Pring raised an eyebrow, looking coy and just slightly pleased with herself. Spock stood up abruptly, causing his chair to wobble precariously. He didn't push it in or say farewell to his would-be-wife. Instead, he walked away silently. Hands balled into fists, he suppressed the (almost overwhelming) urge to find Kirk and punch him for starting all these problems for him. Instead, recognizing this as an illogical, emotional response, he headed to the _Enterprise_, determined to meditate for as long as it took for him to come up with a solution.

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**Shawty is an eenie-meenie miney moe lover (DON'T KILL ME FOR THE BEIBER REFERENCE! I SWEAR, THAT'S THE ONLY SONG I LIKE)! **

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**Next Chapter: Jim finds out Spock is a P-I-M-P. **


	5. Jim's Expertise

**Ok, so here is the sitch. As you MAY have noticed, I have fallen a bit behind on my updates [/understatement of the week]. I know excuses are cheap, but here is mine: I just started an internship with Disney. It's kept me hopping almost non-stop for the majority of the time I've been away from this story. That being said, _Say It if You Mean It _is NOT abandoned. I will TELL you if it ever is. I promise you that upon my word as a writer. Right now, I am just VERY busy. I will write when I can, but the pace is going to be very reduced. Not stopped because, remember, I am still ahead of my chapters, but it will slow down since my writing pace has turned into a crawl. That being said, WANNA MOTIVATE ME TO WRITE FASTER?**

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When Jim woke up, he knew without even opening his eyes that he was back on the _Enterprise_. It was the familiar hum of life that the engines and machines sang in the walls, the slight coolness seeping through the metal behind his head, and the not comfortable, but not uncomfortable firmness of the Starfleet regulation mattress beneath him. He could tell, he was home. He could also tell that he was late for the Alpha Shift. It was that familiar, dropping sensation of dread; the same one he would get as a child, when he woke up a whole hour after school had started.

Springing up from his bed, Jim looked at the PADD, on the night table next to him, which displayed the time at the top. He groaned and lay back down. It was later than he had feared. By now, Chekov would be sitting in the captain's chair watching over the Gamma Shift and gossiping with Sulu over where the 'keptin' had been this morning. Unless Spock had just gone and told them the whole sordid tale already. Friendly though they had become over the past year, Jim still wasn't entirely sure whether or not his First Officer would intuitively know that he didn't want his crew to know about his drunken escapades, sympathetic though Jim knew they would all be.

He closed his eyes, sighing to himself and wondering if he should just go back to sleep and start the day fresh tomorrow. His doorbell, however—beeping shrill and loud through the silence in his room—ended that plan as quickly as it was formed.

"Enter," Jim said automatically, forgetting for the moment that he was still in bed and dressed in his dirty formal uniform. Luckily, once the door opened, it was only McCoy who walked in.

"Good God man, tell me you're not just waking up _now_."

"Don't be jealous," Jim answered back smugly, sitting up.

"Asshole…" McCoy mumbled. It was just then that Jim noticed his friend was carrying his medical bag. Memories of hyposprays to the neck and being drugged into unconsciousness flooded back instantly.

"I feel one hundred percent," Jim started defensively, edging away from McCoy's Bag of Pain. "You did a great job last night."

"Relax, pansy. I just wanna check your vitals. See if your liver decided to put itself out of its misery."

Jim moved back and let his friend pass a tricorder over him, but watched carefully to see if any evil hyposprays of doom came at him.

"So…met that nurse of yours," McCoy said conversationally.

"Hot, right?"

"Still not into Vulcans."

"Ok, forget the ears and the eyebrows-"

"And the cold, distant, unappealing personality?"

"Bones…" Jim warned. "But, yeah, fine. Forget all that. She's hot, right?"

"You're sick."

Jim peeked over to look at the tricorder readings to see if that statement was referring to his mentality or his body. Fortunately for him, everything looked good. McCoy was one hell of a doctor. That, and one hell of an opportunist since, seeing his friend craning his neck to read the tricorder, McCoy seized the moment to grab a hypospray from his bag and jab it into Jim's neck.

"OW! Fuck! What was that for!"

"Just some extra vitamins."

"Why? Was I malnourished?"

"No. That was just payback for yesterday."

Jim groaned and rubbed his sore neck, "Can't we pretend that yesterday never happened?"

"I've got a nurse in sickbay who wouldn't like that very much."

Getting out of bed, Jim went to pull some clothes out of his dresser. The ones he was wearing were sweaty and had some weird stains on them that might or might not be dried vomit, so he figured it was a good time to change.

"Why do you think you hired her?" McCoy asked suddenly, voice very serious.

"I was drunk?" Jim hypothesized. "Why? Something wrong with her?"

McCoy pursed his lips as though he were seriously considering what he wanted to say. "She's qualified, there's no doubt of that. I ran her through her paces and all…so she'll be a fine nurse."

"But…" Jim helped along.

"But, she… _she's not a_ _nurse_, Jim. You can see it in her. She's just…not. I dunno why she's here, but it's not for the job."

Jim pondered that statement. He needed to talk to T'Pring sober in order to make any real judgments about her, but from what he remembered, McCoy was probably right. "Well, whatever her reasoning, she's here now. Maybe Spoc-"

"Oh! Reminds me! After Alpha Shift, he told me to tell you to meet him in his quarters when ya woke up. But that was hours ago. I doubt the hobgoblin's still there."

Without hesitation, Jim grabbed his communicator and flipped it open.

"Kirk to Spock. You wanted to see me?"

"Captain?" The first officer's voice sounded hoarse and unused, "I am in my quarters."

"Still?" Bones interrupted, "Doesn't anyone work on this ship? Or am I the only one who didn't decide to spend half the day in bed?"

"Gimme a second, Spock, and I'll be right there. Alright?"

"That is acceptable." And that was all he said. Jim closed the communicator softly, confused.

"Did he seem alright to you?" Jim asked, placing the communicator in the pocket of the clean pants he'd chosen.

"He got us out of space dock alright, I guess. I didn't see him too much, what with him on the bridge and me in sickbay."

Jim nodded slightly, pulling his shirt off and tossing it off to the side casually. McCoy watched that disapprovingly.

"See? This is why I almost killed you the first week we roomed together, back at the academy. Such a goddamn slob," he complained, picking the shirt up and putting it in the laundry. Jim tried not to laugh.

"As I remember it, the first week, you were ready to kill _everyone_."

"Divorces will do that to ya, kid."

"Worked out for the best," Jim said happily, gathering up his clothes, "I mean, who needs wives or partners or whatever when you have best friends to take care of you?"

Bones' face drew tight with seriousness. Jim took this moment to jump into his bathroom to wash up a bit and change. Obviously, McCoy wanted to have a serious conversation. Jim ran the water extra loud, hoping to avoid it. Unfortunately, he heard his friend settle next to the door.

"Look, Jim," he yelled over the water, "I know you're just going to ignore me as always…but about yesterday-"

Jim groaned loudly, interrupting his friend.

"Don't you make those noises at me! I am being supportive, ya goddamn drunk. All I wanted to say was, if you ever need to get _that_ drunk again, please, just give me a call. I'll be showin' up sooner or later anyways, might as well get there before you wet yourself."

"I'll keep it in mind," Jim responded, uncomfortable. He didn't want to talk about yesterday anymore. He had drunk it all out of his system as far as he was concerned. Nothing left to discuss.

Washing away the dried remains of his sickness, Jim finally started to feel optimistic about the future. He was on his ship, he was headed towards adventure, and he had a nice long shore leave waiting for him in a week. All in all, things were looking good.

Spruced up, Jim walked out of his bathroom almost triumphantly. McCoy rolled his eyes. After asking his friend to stop by sickbay later for a final check-up, McCoy finally left. Jim followed shortly behind him, walking the short distance to the room just down the hall. Even with the door closed, the woody scent of Spock's incense permeated the hall outside his room. He had been meditating, Jim deduced. For a moment he hesitated and considered maybe calling and making sure now was a good time for him to come over, but he remembered the rough, grating sound his first officer's voice had made. He very much doubted a better time would be on the horizon.

It took less than twenty seconds from when he pressed the door chime for Spock to come the door. He didn't look tired, just bedraggled; his pants were wrinkled beyond all recognition, his motions were stiff, and his face looked drawn and almost sallow.

"Were you up all night meditating?" Jim assumed. Spock moved out of his doorway to let Jim in. He offered no response to the question. But once he walked inside, Jim realized that no response was necessary. Spock's bed was clearly untouched whereas the mat on the floor where he meditated had indents from where he had been kneeling. In front of the mat sat a lit candle and at least four burned out votive candles beside it. The incense burner was still letting out thin trails of fragrant smoke, but the large collection of ash below it attested to how many cones had probably been burned already. Jim felt instantly as though he were walking into something direly serious. Why else would Spock have spent so much time in here? Jim took a deep breath—almost choking on the incense—and braced himself for the inevitable problem.

"You must ask T'Pring to leave this ship," Spock said finally, voice still a bit raspy.

"Oh," Jim started, surprised by the suddenness of that remark, "Can I get a reason why first?"

"No."

Jim pursed his lips and stared at his first officer incredulously. The Vulcan _surely _didn't think he was going to get away with that. Spock was staring levelly back, suggesting that maybe he did.

"If I am going to go to Starfleet and tell them that I am firing a qualified, endangered-minority crewmember, I need a good reason."

"Perhaps explaining the conditions under which she was first awarded her job would be sufficient?"

"Oh, yeah. Go get Pike on the comm. I can't _wait _to see his face when I explain how I hired someone in between shots of illegal alcohol. Seriously, get him on the comm."

"From the bartender's report, you drank the Romulan Ale early in the night, meaning that when T'Pring arrived, you were consuming lega-"

"_Missing the point, Spock_!" Jim almost hissed, rubbing an impending headache away at his temples. "I need a reason. She's already on the registry for this ship, so give me a good reason I can use to go and change it."

Spock kept staring at Jim in that unnerving, barely blinking way he had when he was thinking deeply about something. Jim looked around the room, found an empty chair behind Spock's desk, and sat down as he waited. Spock's eyes narrowed for a second in an almost pained expression before he stood up straight, set his arms behind his back, and tried his best to appear stoic and still.

"T'Pring was my betrothed," he said calmly, although Jim could tell there was a whole mess of meaning behind those words; first and foremost, Spock was not pleased about this fact.

"Your betrothed…"Jim parroted back, in shock. "You're engaged?"

"It was an arranged marriage between our parents, as was the custom on Vulcan."

"Wow," Jim said in awe, leaning back. He let this sink in. While dating Uhura, Spock was engaged? And people called _him_ the player! "Just…wow. Spock, the ladies man. I gotta tell Bones."

"No," Spock insisted instantly, "No one must know of what I have told you."

"Why, Uhura pissed she's on board now?"

"I imagine she would be…upset, were she to know of T'Pring's existence. It is for that reason I had not informed her of my engagement. I… request that you to refrain from telling her, or anyone else in the command staff who might unintentionally tell her."

"Lemme get this straight, you never told Uhura you were engaged?"

"Correct."

"And now your fiancée is on this ship?"

"Also correct. It is her hope to convince me that, given Vulcan's destruction, I should fulfill my commitment to her. Her intention was to utilize the five year mission to this aim."

"Goddamn, we need to get her off this ship!"

Spock looked surprised for a moment at Jim's eager change of heart. Jim explained himself immediately, "Look, you're talking to the king of girl problems. As you said last night, I may not be an expert in long-term relationships, but this? I wrote my thesis on this."

"I appreciate your willingness to provide assistance, in this matter," Spock said slowly, tension draining from his posture slowly. Jim shot him a bright smile before turning serious.

"Alright, so, how to get her to leave without pulling Starfleet into this… Would it be illogical just to ask her?"

"I do not believe such an argument will alter her plans."

"Well, I could _order_ her to leave. I am her Captain now…"

Spock considered this for a moment before shaking his head slowly, side to side. "I do not believe that to be an advisable course of action either, Captain."

"Jim," he corrected automatically. "Well, you have any other ideas?"

Spock looked over at his meditation mat accusingly. "No."

"Then this is as good as it's going to get. I'm gonna go talk to her, see if I can't find some logical reasons for her to get her butt out of here. Until then, you just make sure you keep Uhura busy. Last thing we need is her finding out."

"Finding out about what?"

Jim almost leapt out of his skin, hearing Uhura's voice suddenly appear on his left. Spock too seemed to be startled, as he was looking at his girlfriend as though he had never seen her before. Deep in conversation, they both seemed to have missed hearing the door hiss open. From her question, it was clear she hadn't heard anything too awful. But she was still standing there, getting more suspicious by the second, waiting on an answer to her question. In a very telling way, Spock shot a look at Jim which he clearly understood to mean, 'Come up with something quick'.

"Well… Find out about…" Jim paused for a second to collect his thoughts. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he decided to just wing it. It'd always worked in the past. "Well, _God_, Uhura! Way to ruin everything! I was going to surprise you and tell you that… I got Starfleet to agree to let us have that new earpiece you wanted. It was going to be a….uh… 'Thanks-For-Being-Great' gift. Spock's idea." Taking that last bit on, Jim smiled at his First Officer. Might as well let him bask in the glory of a happy Uhura for as long as possible.

"Oh! Really?" Uhura beamed, turning her attention instantly to Spock. He didn't squirm under the sudden attention, but Jim did see him shift a little, uncomfortably.

"The Captain would know more about the requisition of the item than I," Spock said carefully, making sure he was not lying in any way.

"Spock just mentioned that you wanted it," Jim said truthfully. Just last week, he had mentioned during breakfast that she had requested one of him and that it would be beneficial to the missions ahead if she were given it.

"Thank you, Spock," she said gently, kissing Spock on the cheek. Jim took that as his cue to leave.

"Alright, you two. Lemme get out of your hair. Spock, I'll be in touch later to go over how the cargo removal we discussed."

Spock nodded and suggested that Jim contact him whenever any new information was obtained. Jim smiled and agreed before leaving his two officers alone. T'Pring would most likely still be in Sickbay, he imagined, so that was where he headed. Already, he was planning what he would say. T'Pring would be logical and intelligent, so Jim had to fight that with preparation and original arguments. Maybe he would claim that her being on board hindered Spock's ability to perform his job properly, thus sending the ship into peril? Or maybe he could say that, since there were so few Vulcans remaining, he couldn't be selfish and hoard two on his ship? He wasn't sure yet. In fact, the only thing he _was _sure of was that he was going to have to call in a dozen favors to get the earpiece he had just promised Uhura. Jim sighed dramatically before shaking it off with a smile. Who would have thought he, of all people, would be helping Spock with women problems? Maybe this was the start of that defining friendship the other reality's Spock had talked about? Jim smiled brighter at that idea.

Yeah, maybe this was the start of something—something big.

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**Spock's a playa. What can I say? **

**I fell behind on responding to reviews last time, but this time, I promise to start up again. :D**

**Next Chapter: Spock faces his own, personal Kobayashi Maru **


	6. Spock's Kobayashi Maru

**Whaaaaaaaaat? I'm alive? Yes! Yes I am! Ok, I feel awful for the lag, but I'm here now! As I always say, have no fear; if I discontinue the story, you'll be the first ones to know. That being said, I am putting a special ALERT for the story on my profile which will update whenever anything is completed on the story, so you all can track its progress. **

**Alright then. As always,**

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When Captain Kirk left, Spock found himself alone with Uhura. The excitement of having acquired the amplifier she'd wanted quickly ebbed and was replaced by the familiar mask of barely-contained concern she had been wearing for the last few weeks. Spock found himself anticipating her questions before she even began to speak. He turned away towards his desk.

"How are you, Spock?" She asked gently, as though he might break from the simple query.

"My emotional stability is much improved, due to the time I spent on New Vulcan."

"And your father?"

"He has adjusted to life without my mother, much as I had expected," Spock said before lowering his eyes and admitting, "It is a complicated process. For myself as well."

"I wish I could have been there for you."

Spock didn't respond to her comment because, were he honest with himself, he would admit that the trip had been a welcome break from her constant, sympathetic presence. If she thought anything of his silence, her face didn't betray it. Spock moved away from her and occupied himself with cleaning up the meditation supplies still on the floor.

"Was the time spent with your relatives satisfactory?" he asked perfunctorily.

"Oh, yeah. It was nice seeing them. They want to meet you," she added brightly. It pleased Spock to hear some amount of happiness back in her voice after so long of hearing only misery.

"Perhaps during the impending shore leave we shall have available time in which to visit them," Spock proposed, folding up his mat.

"That would be great!" She said, sounding just slightly surprised. "I'll let them know tonight to expect us. Do you think we could stop by New Vulcan as well? I'd like to see it."

Spock paused a moment as though the question surprised him, "If we limit our visitations to a week and a half at each location, the allotted time should be sufficient for both. However, I feel it necessary to forewarn you, at present, New Vulcan is still in the beginnings of their rebuilding effort. Due to that fact, I strongly doubt that you will find much of interest there. Perhaps we should delay our visit until we return from our five year mission. That would give the colony ample opportunity to rebuild as they intend."

Spock thought that this was a logical argument, but when he heard no response from Uhura, he turned to look at her and realized abruptly that she did not agree. Her expression was a strange mix of hurt and confusion that Spock did not entirely understand.

"You don't want to take me to New Vulcan?" She asked quietly.

"I was merely expressing my concern that it may prove to be underwhelming for you, as it is presently. Most of the buildings are residential with very little else constructed. I am unsure of what we would be able to occupy our time with, should we visit."

"We could visit your father…"

Spock couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the thought of that. The entire time with father? They had barely lasted the day. "At most, that would reasonably occupy three days, leaving the majority of our time there unfilled. Furthermore, the humidity and heat of the planet at this time of the year will prohibit you from being outside of a shelter for the greater part of the day."

Uhura pursed her lips and flipped her hair over her shoulders with a toss of her head; over their time together, Spock had come to recognize these actions as precipitates to arguments. He braced himself accordingly.

"You don't want to take me to New Vulcan." It wasn't a question this time, but rather, an accusation.

"I…expressed my concerns regarding such a trip. You appear to receiving my comments as a personal insult. That is irrational."

"It is too rational! You didn't want to bring me yesterday, now you don't want me to go for shore leave. There are always these grand, logical reasons. But there's something else, I know it."

"Then, it would appear, you know something I do not."

"Bullshit," she spat, getting angrier, eyes narrowed and venomous. "Yesterday, you said that it would be uncomfortable for me to be there, today you say I'll be bored. What will the next one be? I can't shake this feeling that you want to keep me away from New Vulcan."

"Two instances do not make conclusive evidence of me-"

"It's not just that. You've just been acting distant. Like you're trying to keep me at arm's length."

"Perhaps you are misreading my normal, Vulcan responses as 'distant'. It is a common error among humans th-"

"Spock," she breathed, sounding exhausted, "I think I know you well enough to know the difference between you and your normal Vulcan distance and…._this. _You're pushing me away, and I want to know why."

"You are being illogical," he said firmly, once again turning his back to her. "I had explained my reasoning, both yesterday and today, behind my reluctance to bring you to New Vulcan. It is wholly unfounded in reality for you to take such explanations in such a personally insulting manner.."

Uhura was clearly unconvinced. "Are you embarrassed to confess to being with a human instead of a Vulcan?"

Spock felt a headache starting just behind his eyes. It was a familiar pain; he had become used to it over the last few weeks. He rubbed right between his eyes, as that usually served to alleviate it, at least temporarily.

"Embarrassment is an emotion. As it is my goal as a Vulcan to control emotions, were I truly feeling any sort of shame or discomfiture regarding our relationship, I would use such circumstances to my benefit as a way of training and honing my emotional control. However, I do not harbor such feelings. I assure you, despite your fears, my concerns were based solely on _your _comfort level, rather than my own."

He turned to look at her, to gauge her reaction. Uhura had craned her neck a bit before tilting her head to the side, eyes just a little too watery. She looked miserable and Spock felt, not for the first time, that he was unsuccessful at being a suitable romantic partner for her.

"If you are adamant about visiting New Vulcan, however, I will not further protest bringing you, if only to allay your unfounded fears."

Uhura finally let out a small, sad looking smile, "That solves one of the problems…"

"I am not pushing you away, Nyota."

"The whole week, I've been trying to be there for you. I've been trying to do whatever I thought might help. I don't know what you need; what you needed from me."

"I did not require anything," Spock said with an air of finality. He didn't want to do this, yet again.

This conversation was like the Kobayashi Maru; he had gone through it countless times, and no matter what, there was no way to beat it. Uhura wanted answers and solutions that Spock was unable to give to her. Still, like an immature cadet, he had gone back and tried again, tried to say anything to make her feel better. But this time, he was ready to just opt out and take the F.

"Vulcans manage their grief in a profoundly different way than Humans. I did not require anything from you that you were not already providing. If anything, what I needed most significantly was solitude, for meditation and introspection. Your attempts at 'comfort', well meaning though they were, prevented me from obtaining that necessary privacy."

Uhura eyes narrowed dangerously, "Do you know how hard it is to see someone you love hurting and to be told there is nothing you can do to help them?"

"I did not mean to-" Spock's words were cut off before he even had fully formed them. Uhura was on a rampage now; the Klingon ships were firing full phasers.

"I tried to do everything I could think of! And you just keep pushing me away!"

"I was not-"

"I wanted to make sure you went through this week in one piece! That's what a relationship is! You look out for each other!"

"I recognize that-"

"Oh, do you? I don't think you do! Did you ever ask once what _I _needed from you? You weren't the only one who was grieving these last few weeks. Maybe _I _needed something other than 'solitude' and 'privacy'!"

"I…I did not think-"

"No! You didn't! You were too wrapped up in your own needs to worry about anyone else! I _needed_ you, like I thought you needed me! We _both_ had a great loss last year!"

"Your loss is not equivalent to the destruction of a home world," Spock said quickly—too quickly—and without thinking. He wasn't sure where the comment had come from, perhaps just from the tension and anger in the room, but he knew instantly that it had been a mistake. Uhura looked shocked and was utterly silent for awhile. The room vibrated with the sudden lack of noise. Spock looked over towards his desk, unable to look at the raw, volatile emotions painted all over his girlfriend's face.

"How could you _say _something like that?" Uhura spat out. Spock was surprised she had not slapped him. He took a quick look at her and saw clenched fists next to her sides, showing that a future physical attack had not been ruled out.

"I apologize for my remark," he said in a small voice. "It was unsympathetic to your circumstances."

There was no reply. Spock finally turned his gaze back to Uhura to see her smiling a small, wry, disbelieving smile.

"Unsympathetic. You apologize because it was 'unsympathetic'." She let out a short laugh, shooting her eyes up to the ceiling, "I guess that is part of the joy of dating a Vulcan. No matter how much you give, there is only a finite amount that you get back."

Something inside Spock sunk. He had been wondering when _this_ conversation would occur with her. He had been having it with himself for quite some time. Uhura wasn't a needy girl, but she _was_ a passionate one. She felt, not more than an average person, but rather more deeply than the average person. Increasingly, she had been pouring more and more of herself into their relationship, perhaps, hoping that the emotionless shields Spock had up around him were simply just that: shields. And once through them, she would have the emotion she was investing shown back to her.

Such was not the way with Vulcans. Spock felt strongly about her, but he didn't have the capability to show this to her as concretely as she showed it to him. It was no surprise that now she was feeling unsure and self-conscious about their relationship. It was familiar; his mother and father had had these sorts of problems throughout their relationship. However, despite the inner debate and practice Spock had had in anticipation of this, he had little prepared to say to her.

"You are correct," he settled on, knowing this would be an unsatisfactory answer. Uhura's eyes narrowed and Spock braced himself for the probable outcomes that would result from this answer. The most likely was the termination of their relationship. It was not the most desirable, but it was the most probable.

Uhura opened her mouth to say something, eyes softened just a bit with sadness. He suspected that the next words would be 'I can't do this anymore'. It had been a statement he had heard many times in his life. The first time had been when his mother and his father had fought over something related to him and had argued violently (at least on her end) for days. The result had been her saying she 'couldn't do this anymore' and she had left for a week to stay with his grandparents. That time, he had been confused as to what 'this' was and why his mother could not engage in it further, but the last time he had heard those words, he had understood perfectly. He had had a short relationship with a human woman by the name of Susanne when he was a cadet. Their relationship hadn't lasted long once the limits of his Vulcan upbringing revealed themselves. They ended up having a disagreement similar to this and she had stated how she 'couldn't do this anymore', and then stormed out of his room. Unlike his mother, Susanne never returned. So now, with a similar situation unfolding right in front of him, he fully expected Uhura's response to be like those from before.

"Despite what I suspect to be your ideas on the matter, I wish to state explicitly that I care for you, deeply."

"You still love me?" The question wasn't needy, nor was it searching. Uhura said it as though it was a question on a test. And this time, it was a test Spock wanted to pass.

"I do."

Apparently that was incorrect. Uhura looked disappointed—crushed—at the statement that should have fixed things.

"I _do_," he repeated more slowly, as though to stress his sincerity, but Uhura held up her hand to silence him.

"Don't say it. You can't say that because it's what I want to hear. You're only supposed to say it if you mean it."

Spock understood. He turned his face away, in the hope that the strained placidity upon it would not betray the embarrassment creeping into his gut. There was nothing more to say, and they both knew it. Uhura let out a sigh and looked as though she were on the verge of saying something, most likely 'goodbye', when the Captain's voice interrupted them through Spock's communicator.

"Commander Spock, can you report to Sickbay? There… is an issue with our cargo removal."

Spock was reminded of a saying his mother used often in situations like this when he was growing up; _'When it rains, it pours'_. He looked at Uhura, but said nothing. She rolled her eyes at the disruption but waved him away with her hand.

"Captain calls," she said mockingly.

"I…" he started before realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say. She looked at him expectantly—hopefully—but he just closed his mouth and walked out the door. Just like the Kobayashi Maru, he was going down in flames.

And there was nothing he could do to save himself now.

* * *

**Too bad you can't hack Uhura, eh?**

**Ok. As a thank you, I am having a sort of...contest? Kinda? Not really. The person who gives me my 60th review will get to add something special to the story :D So review away!**

**Next Chapter: T'Pring is a wily coyote**


	7. Letter to the Readers TEMPORARY

Dear Readers,

I am writing you this (and be sure to read it because it's going to be taken down when the next chapter is uploaded) to apologize for the lack of progress in this story. I had come across a span of time where I was just uninterested in doing anything other than working and sleeping. My job had worn me out and deprived me of any energy whatsoever that could be applied towards writing. My job has not stopped being the time/energy stealing bandit it is, but I am no longer letting it keep me away from writing. I am restarting this story with all the enthusiasm and dedication I had when I first started planning it out and typing it down. I may be delayed with updates as I either reconnect with my beta or start with another. I promise, however, that there WILL be an update to this story and they should come with somewhat regularity. I am hoping for an update a month, but we will see.

Thank you, some of you, for your patience and your kind reviews,

-Nnej Nivroop

P.S. I am sorry, for those with Story Alerts, that this popped up instead of a chapter. I 3 you all and you'll get a REAL alert soon :D


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